Downcast Summer
by ArtistKurai
Summary: Sequel to Winter Blues. Mr. Pevensie is home from the war, and he sees just how much his children have changed. Especially when he sees Peter having flashbacks of things he never should have to experience. Told from Mr. Pevensie's point of view. This is a slash free zone.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Greetings and salutations, my dear readers. Welcome to another Narnia fic. I hope you enjoy this one as much as you did Winter Blues. I'm very pleased with all the reviews I got for that one. Enjoy seeing the Pevensie home from Mr. Pevensie's point of view.

Disclaimer: I need to make some Turkish Delight.

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When he returned from the war, Mr. Pevensie had looked forward to being back at home with his wife and four children. He could hardly believe he'd been away from home for so long. It just didn't seem right, and Mr. Pevensie couldn't wait to see how his children had grown. 

Mrs. Pevensie had tried to tell her husband about the changes in their children, but Mr. Pevensie didn't think much of it. Of course the children had changed. That happens during a war, no matter if you're fighting it or waiting for your soldier at home. 

But when he arrived at the train station and found his family, Mr. Pevensie saw just what his wife had been talking about. 

Eighteen-year-old Peter had grown into a tall, handsome young man. He still had a youthful face, though it had lost most of its childish roundness. Susan, at seventeen, was a beautiful young woman. Mr. Pevensie was apprehensive of the boys that would be coming to court his oldest daughter. Like his brother, Edmund had grown much taller and more mature, though his father could still see the gleam of mischief in the fifteen-year-old's eyes. And Lucy was no longer that tiny little girl he'd left. She was now a teenager, and she was becoming quite the beauty, like her sister. 

But what struck Mr. Pevensie wasn't their physical appearances. No, that was normal for children. What was unexpected was how they carried themselves. They were almost... regal. Royal. They each had a confidence about them that was unmatched by any other he'd met, and their eyes held a wisdom no child should have. That was new. And it only got weirder after they got home. 

There were lions everywhere. 

Lion figurines lined the shelves. One of the quilts had a lion stitched right in the center of it. There were framed portraits of lions on the walls, and Mr. Pevensie was greatly surprised to see Edmund's signature in the corner of them. 

Susan and Lucy had nearly taken over the kitchen duties. The two of them cooked some of the oddest dishes. The foods themselves weren't strange in any way. There were the normal meats and vegetables, bread and fruits and desserts, but they were prepared and combined in ways that Mr. Pevensie wasn't accustomed to. And there was barely anything store-bought. There were no canned items in the cabinets, no packaged items in the icebox. And at least a few times a week, Susan woke up early to make bread, jams, or some kind of juice or cider. Mr. Pevensie had to admit that it was some of the best food he'd ever eaten, but it was just unusual. And the different meals the children would come up with weren't what they would've normally prepared. 

Edmund's favorite breakfast was bread and jam, cheese, and cider, particularly when he was upset. While none of these items were strange to Mr. Pevensie, it was the way they were all put together that struck him as odd. 

And the candles. At night, the children used candles to light their rooms, not their lamps. Mr. Pevensie had found his boys reading by candlelight many a time, and there was always a candle standing on the tables by the girls' beds. When he first mentioned this to Mrs. Pevensie, she just said that it saved a good bit on their electricity. 

But the strangest thing of all was the way the children talked. Mr. Pevensie had overheard them talking about people with strange names. The names Tumnus, Oreius, and especially Aslan were heard quite frequently, though he'd never heard names such as those before. Mr. Pevensie couldn't even be sure how to pronounce them correctly. 

He heard a very odd conversation between Peter and Edmund one afternoon. They'd been wrestling in the living room. At first, Mr. Pevensie was afraid they were back to their old ways of fighting, but he was relieved to find it lighthearted and playful. Their banter was amusing as they fought, but he was left a bit confused. 

"You've lost your touch, Ed!" Peter had jibed at his brother as he rammed his shoulder into the younger boy's gut. Edmund just wrapped his arms around his brother and flipped them over, tumbling to the floor. "Oreius would be so disappointed in you." 

"You're one to talk!" Edmund snapped back. "Or need I remind you who won the sparring competition yesterday?" 

"You need to act your age, Edmund," Peter admonished playfully as he pulled his brother into a headlock. "Aren't you a bit old to be saying such things?" 

"Which age should I act?" Edmund demanded incredulously as he tried to pry his way out of the older boy's hold. "While I look fifteen, you know very well that I'm actually thirty." 

"No need to remind me," Peter groaned. "How do you think I feel? I'm thirty-three!" 

What? Mr. Pevensie had to double take at that. That made no sense whatsoever. His boys were teenagers. Not men in their thirties. He'd briefly thought to address this, but the boys had moved on to a different subject, and Mrs. Pevensie caught his eye and shook her head wearily, as if to say don't bother. So he let it go, like everything else. 

He did this with every odd thing his children did until one summer afternoon. The boys were outside sparring with wooden swords. Mr. Pevensie was, again, surprised to see his sons with swords, and perfectly gobsmacked to see how adept they were, Edmund in particular. 

Mr. Pevensie sat on the porch steps watching his sons fight. Both were drenched in sweat and were breathing heavily by now, but neither seemed tired, even though they'd been out here for nearly two hours. "Come on, Ed. You can do better than that. You were always better than me at sword fighting!" 

"Well forgive me for not doing quite as well as usual, High King Peter. I'm still not quite used to fighting in this air!" 

Mr. Pevensie assumed Edmund meant the hot summer air. And what did he call Peter? Hiking? 

Peter paused with an incredulous look on his face. "That's no excuse! We've fought in much hotter, more stifling weather than this, and in full armor. You're merely wearing trousers and a shirt!" 

"I miss my old trousers," Edmund commented. "And my tunics. I could move much more easily in them. And I miss my old sword." 

"I know what you mean," agreed Peter, his countenance dropping a bit. "I miss Rhindon. That was the best sword I've ever used." 

"Well, it was made specifically for you. Of course you would be more comfortable fighting with it." 

Peter was still looking melancholy, but he shook himself out of it and looked back up at his brother. "Well, there's no use in dwelling on things we can't change." And if those weren't some of the wisest words Mr. Pevensie had ever heard, he would eat his hat. "Now, enough talk. Loser gives the winner his dessert tonight at dinner." 

"You're on!" 

Mr. Pevensie chuckled. Boys will be boys. The fight resumed, the boys going at it even more vigorously. Though he'd seen them practicing with their swords on more than one occasion and they never got hurt, the father just couldn't stop worrying that one of both of them would get hurt somehow. That was the last thing Mr. Pevensie wanted. 

The fight was becoming even more violent, which had Mr. Pevensie concerned. Teenage boys shouldn't be fighting each other this mercilessly, particularly since they were only sparring. Just as he was about to suggest that they stop for a while, Mr. Pevensie saw Peter freeze, sword held midstrike. 

"Peter!" Edmund yelled fearfully and ran to his brother. Mr. Pevensie joined his sons and was shocked to see the absolute fear on Peter's face. His gaze was distant, focusing on things only he could see, and his whole body trembled. "Pete, what are you seeing?" Peter didn't answer, but the trembling increased to full on shaking, and Mr. Pevensie thought he was about to drop the sword. 

"Peter," Edmund spoke again, his words slow and deliberate, "what are you seeing?" 

"B-battle," the traumatized teen answered shakily. Battle? What battle could Peter possibly be referring to? His sons had never seen combat. They were only teenagers. 

"Which one? Where are you?" The sword slowly began to drop, but Peter was still completely tense and on edge. "Come on, Pete. Tell me which battle you're seeing." 

"E-ettin, Ettin-" Peter stammered, but he was so shaken up he could barely speak. 

"Ettinsmoor?" Edmund confirmed. "The Ettinsmoor War?" 

Peter gave a single, jerky nod. "You... y-you're fighting with the giant. He's standing over you, about to hit you. Edmund, run! Fall back!" 

Peter's panicked words brought back memories for Mr. Pevensie. Very unpleasant memories of battles he fought during the war. This was the last thing the man would ever expect to hear from his son, and it sent shivers down his spine. 

"Peter, listen to me," Edmund said calmly but firmly. His confident voice brought Mr. Pevensie out of his memories and back to the present. "I'm right here. I'm fine, I'm not hurt." 

"Edmund! No! Get away from him!" 

"Peter, snap out of it!" Edmund finally yelled. He knocked his brother's sword to the ground and grabbed his flailing hands. "I'm here! We're not in Ettinsmoor! Remember? We defeated the giants. You drove them out of Narnia. We were successful, remember? We all made it back home alive." 

"Your chest. Y-y-you were hit in the chest. Ribs shattered. Chest caved in. Not breathing. Edmund, breathe!" 

"I got to Lucy in time! Remember, Peter? You got me to her and she was able to give me the cordial. I was completely healed, not a scratch on me. Do you remember?" Hoping the physical connection would help, Edmund took his older brother's hand and placed it over his heart. "Feel that, Pete? That's my heart beating. I'm alive and well." The younger boy's other hand moved to Peter's face, his thumb gently stroking his flushed cheek. "I'm here. We survived and were able to go back to Cair Paravel." 

"Cair P-paravel," Peter repeated softly. His shaking slowly began to decrease, the rigidity in his muscles loosening. 

"That's right. Cair Paravel. Our home." 

"Home." It seemed the reminder of this strange place was the key to calming Peter out of his flashback. Mr. Pevensie was all too familiar with these reactions, and he was greatly disturbed to see his son suffer this. "We went back home." 

"Yes, Peter. We went back home. Back to Susan and Lucy, and the Beavers and Tumnus. We were home." 

By now, Peter had finally stopped shaking and his eyes had focused, locking onto Edmund's. "Ed," he whispered helplessly, tears filling his eyes. "I miss home. I want to go home." 

"I know, Pete," Edmund said just as gently. His thumb continued moving comfortingly across Peter's cheek. "I miss it too. Maybe one day we can go back. I know Aslan said we couldn't take anymore trips to Narnia, but maybe one day he'll call us back home." 

Every word out of his boys' mouths broke Mr. Pevensie's heart a little bit more. Nothing they said made any sense to him. The places they were talking about, the people they'd mentioned, battles. It was all just... absurd. 

But what really hurt was what they said about home. They didn't say anything about Finchley, or even England. They kept mentioning a Cair Para... para-something. That wasn't their home, wherever it was. Their home was right here, in Finchley. 

But they never brought up Finchley. Not once. And it made Mr. Pevensie feel almost unimportant. When he was gone, he couldn't wait to get back home to his family in little Finchley. That was his home. That was their home. But Peter and Edmund didn't seem to think so. 

"Come on, Peter. Let's go lie down. You need to rest." With practiced movements, younger brother led older brother into the house, not giving their father a second glance. They probably didn't even realize he was there, Mr. Pevensie thought dejectedly. But he followed his sons, wanting to be available should they need his assistance. 

He found the boys upstairs in their room. They'd changed into clean trousers, but left their shirts off, and were lying together in Peter's bed. Edmund held his older brother closely, playing gently with his hair and singing softly. It was a song Mr. Pevensie had never heard before, and he couldn't understand anything Edmund was saying. It was almost as if he was singing in another language. 

"How about I call Susan to bring us some juice?" Edmund offered. "She recently made some berry juice, just like we had at home. And I think she made some of the pastries that Sennia used to make." 

"Sounds good," Peter sniffled. "'t'd be nice to have a little bit of home here." Again, the denial that they were home now hit Mr. Pevensie like a physical blow. "Could you sing again, Ed? You always had the best voice." 

Edmund smiled softly. "No problem, Pete." And with a gentle kiss to his brother's temple, he resumed his song. 

"It's too bad Lucy doesn't have Tumnus's flute. She was the only one that could ever figure out how to play it." 

"I don't think it'd be a good idea to play it here. How would we explain the creatures dancing in the fire?" Both boys chuckled, the sound a welcome relief to Mr. Pevensie. "But I know what you mean. Hearing him play the flute always put you and Lucy to sleep. Even when you were grown, it put you both to sleep." 

"It's relaxing," Peter defended halfheartedly. He sniffled again. "I really miss home, Ed. Why did Aslan make us leave? I love Narnia, and I loved being her king." 

"You were the High King, Peter. I was just the king." 

"We were both kings, Ed. I may have had the higher position, but you, me, Su, and Lu were all equal." 

"Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen," Edmund said nostalgically. "We need to have a Narnian party, us and the girls. To remember old times." 

"Like our coronation," Peter said with a small smile. 

"And you dropped that girl you were dancing with at the party." 

"Hey, I was thirteen," Peter defended lightly. "I'd never really danced before, and suddenly I'm at a ball and dancing with a girl I'd never met. What was she, a nymph or dryad?" 

Mr. Pevensie had to give himself a mental shake. His children were talking about dancing with mythical creatures? And ruling a foreign land? Where could these stories be coming from? He was still very concerned about the reaction Peter had had while sparring with Edmund. It had reminded him eerily of the flashbacks he would sometimes get and had seen other soldiers experience. But there was no way his son was having war flashbacks. His children had never fought in a war... Right? 

"I still can't stop seeing you getting hit by that giant's club, Ed," Peter mumbled then, his tone once again sad. "I thought I'd lost you. Again. You need to stop almost dying. Every time it happens, I feel five years get cut from my life." 

"Well, how do you thing the girls and I felt when you went off to battle?" Edmund countered. "You weren't just our High King, Pete. You're our older brother who practically raised us." Mr. Pevensie felt as though he'd been punched. 

"I didn't raise you three," Peter scoffed. 

"Didn't you?" The older brother fell silent. "Peter, you were thirteen when we got to Narnia. Susan was twelve, I was ten, and Lucy was eight. We'd just left Finchley for the country, and we get thrown into another world and fight in a war not a week after we get there. We were kids when we were crowned High King, King, and Queens of Narnia. You took charge of us just as you took charge of Narnia. Over the fifteen years we were there, you were our father as well as our brother. Who did Susan run to when she had her heart broken by that Archenland noble's son?" 

"I'd still like to show that gutless rat just how good I am in hand-to-hand combat," Peter grumbled. 

"Same here. And Rabadash was even worse. For someone in her twenties, you'd think Susan would've had more sense." 

"I couldn't have come up with a better punishment for Rabadash. I wonder if he's still cursed to turn into a donkey if he strays too far from the temple of Tash." 

"That was hilarious," Edmund chuckled. "And who did Lucy turn to when she... turned twelve?" 

What did happen when Lucy turned twelve? Mr. Pevensie was tempted to ask, but he knew the boys would just clam up and not tell him anything. Peter's groan brought him back to the present. 

"You don't have to remind me, Ed. She did it again last year, when she turned twelve for the second time. And she still comes to me every month, cranky and irritable until Susan makes her cinnamon and chocolate scones. I'll never be more grateful to Sennia for teaching Susan how to make those." 

This made absolutely no sense to Mr. Pevensie. No one can be the same age twice. It was just physically impossible. Lucy only turned twelve last year, that was it. And why would she come running to Peter cranky every mon- oh. That's why. Goodness, his children were growing up. 

"And who's always been the first person I turn to whenever I have nightmares of the Witch or any of the many wars we've fought together?" Edmund reminded softly. He tilted his brother's chin so he could look him in the eye. "It's always you, Pete. You were always the one there for us, especially the last eighteen years. Don't even try to deny it." 

Now along with the hurt, Mr. Pevensie felt guilt. It was because he left for the war that his children were sent away, that they had to grow up way too fast. He almost felt he deserved being left out of his children's lives, though he tried to tell himself that wasn't the case. He knew his children wouldn't see it that way, but he still couldn't quite shake the feeling. 

Seeing his sons now only made that feeling stronger. They were no longer children. They were men. Mr. Pevensie didn't even bother trying to reason the time lapse Edmund kept mentioning. It didn't matter. What did matter was that his children grew up without him, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

"Why don't we have Mum and Dad join our Narnian party?" Peter suggested softly. This caught Mr. Pevensie by surprise. They'd never openly been invited to join their children in anything the four of them did together. It wasn't that they consciously chose to exclude their parents. It just ended up happening. Hearing his son expressly wanting to include them in their activities warmed his heart and gave him a bit of hope. "I'm sure they would enjoy it." 

"They wouldn't know what was going on," Edmund pointed out. Mr. Pevensie couldn't disagree. "They don't know anything about Narnia. It would just confuse them." 

"I'm sure if we show them everything we can about Narnia they'll come to understand, at least a bit. And if that fails, we could just tell them it was something we learned about in the country. That seems to work for everything else we've had to explain to them." 

And didn't that just make Mr. Pevensie feel like a dupe? Even though he'd overheard the children talk about the strangest things, he'd never looked more into it before now. He'd just taken them at their word when they said they learned it in the country. 

"It won't really feel like a Narnian party in these clothes, though," Edmund pointed out sulkily. "I really do miss my tunics." 

"Maybe the girls can put together some clothes for the four of us that are similar to what we had back home. I'm sure they'd like that. It would be another way for them to bring back a little bit of home for us." 

Edmund sighed. "They probably would enjoy that. We could turn it into an entire banquet. Like the ones we used to have, only much smaller." 

"With a tournament between meals," Peter added. "Too bad we don't have any Narnian music to play while we eat." 

"Maybe we can sing, just so we'll have some music. It'll be better than nothing." Eyes closed, Peter nodded against his younger brother's shoulder. "Rest now, my King," Edmund commanded softly, now using that regal speech Mr. Pevensie had heard his children using on occasion. "We can discuss this more with the Queens later." 

"Love you, Ed," Peter mumbled sleepily. 

"I love you too, High King Peter." Once his brother was asleep, Edmund carefully slid out from under him and covered him with his blanket before turning to the door. Mr. Pevensie quickly moved down the hall and ducked into his and his wife's room, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping by his son. He was left with much to think on. 

Mr. Pevensie's heart hurt for his sons. They'd obviously been through much more than they ever let on. Much more than he ever wanted his children to experience. He cringed to imagine what else they may have faced growing up. 

But the way they acted and spoke showed how strong his children were. Despite everything they've experienced, they've overcome it all and come out with their heads held high. Mr. Pevensie couldn't disagree with Edmund calling his brother a king. For Peter was very regal and noble, as were his brother and sisters. While he still hated that his children had possibly seen some of the same horrors he'd experienced in the war, Mr. Pevensie couldn't deny how proud he was of his sons and daughters. 

Sometime later, Mr. Pevensie found Edmund talking with his sisters in the kitchen. Not wanting to be caught, he snuck up to the kitchen and hid just outside the doorway. "We need to have a banquet day," Edmund proposed to his sisters. "Just for us." 

"You mean like a real Narnian banquet?" asked Susan, confused. From his vantage point, Mr. Pevensie could see his youngest's face light up with excitement. 

"That would be so much fun!" she squealed happily. "Susan and I can cook all sorts of foods, and you and Peter could have a tournament. Or all four of us could have a tournament. You and Peter with your swords, Susan with her bow, and me with my knives." 

Lucy had knives? Where could she have gotten such things? She was only thirteen! And could Lucy have meant an archery bow that Susan had? Since when was Susan an archer? 

"That does sound like it could be fun," Susan had to admit with a smile. "It's been ages since I had any real practice. I'm sure Oreius would be very disappointed in me." 

"You're not the only one," Edmund chuckled. 

"But what about Mum and Dad?" Susan asked. "Wouldn't it be odd for us to suddenly throw a royal banquet the likes of which they've never experienced? How would we begin to explain it to them?" 

"Do we really have to?" The girls gave their brother puzzled looks. "Ever since we got back from Professor Kirke's, Mum's been following us around the house listening in on our conversations. And Dad's done the same thing since he came back from the war." 

What? Mr. Pevensie visibly flinched when Edmund admitted they'd been caught. And they thought they'd been so careful. 

"You're sure it's been that long?" Lucy asked. 

"You don't survive as many wars and battles as Peter and I have without learning how to listen for spies and sneaks. We'd have been dead before the first year of our reign was over." 

"That is true," Susan agreed. "And goodness knows the two of you were always reckless enough as it is. I had gray hair by the time I was twenty because of your antics." 

"It's true, she did," Lucy added. "I even found a few gray hairs of my own when I was twenty-one." 

"Anyway," Edmund continued, moving back to their original discussion, "I think it'd be a good way to show Mum and Dad that we still want to include them in our lives. We may be different than we were when we were kids, but that doesn't mean we want them out of our lives." 

"They may not be able to understand it all, but at least they would really get to see us for who we are." 

"Spoken like a true Valiant Queen of Narnia," Edmund said, a proud smile evident in his voice. The girls giggled lightly. "So, do you girls think you'd be able to put together some clothes like we had in Narnia? Peter and I really miss our old clothes, and I'm sure you two do as well." 

"I can't say I don't miss it," said Susan. "It may have gotten a bit cumbersome at times, but those gowns were some of the most comfortable things I've ever worn." 

"They won't be exactly the same, of course. We don't exactly have any magic-spun silk in Finchley. But I'm sure Susan and I could make each of us something from home." 

By now, Mr. Pevensie had grown a bit numb to his children referring to this Narnia place as their home. Though if everything they've been saying was true, and he was very inclined to believe it was, then he couldn't blame them for thinking of the place where they'd grown up as home. 

"And Peter and I can have all our weapons in perfect condition for a tournament." All their weapons? The children had actual weapons? Mr. Pevensie didn't think they were actually serious about Susan's bow and Lucy's knives. Where on earth could they have gotten such things? And just where were they keeping them? 

"Leave my bow and arrows to me," Susan insisted. "You and Peter never did quite get the hang of maintaining a bow and arrows." 

"Well, you never got the hang of handling a whetstone," Edmund shot back lightly. 

"I never said I did," Susan retorted, drawing chuckles from her siblings. "So when do you want to do this?" 

"Let Peter and me know when you've finished our wardrobe, and then we can decide from there. I wouldn't want to rush you, especially for something like this." 

"Alright, we'll do that. And start coming up with what you want served at the banquet meals so Lu and I can begin preparing for that as well." 

"I want cinnamon and chocolate scones!" Lucy piped up. A heavy silence fell over the kitchen for a moment, and Mr. Pevensie wondered what could be wrong. "No, not for that." Mr. Pevensie could almost hear his youngest daughter rolling her eyes. "I do like them at other times of the month, you know." 

"Some of the fruits will be a little difficult to come by," Susan reminded her siblings. "For one, we're in England, not Narnia, and two, we're still recovering from the war. Some things will be in short supply." 

"Just do what you can," Edmund told her gently. "We know it won't quite be the same, but it will still be a comforting reminder of home." 

"Are you sure it won't just make things worse?" Susan asked in a small voice. "How do you know having this banquet won't make us miss home even more?" 

"It very well could make us miss home more," Edmund confessed. "But having a little bit of home every once in a while is better than having none at all, isn't it?" Mr. Pevensie couldn't agree more. 

A few silent moments passed before anyone else said anything. "I suppose you're right," Susan finally relented. "I do miss the banquets and balls we used to host. And it would be lovely to have some of our old clothes again, even if they aren't quite the same." 

"See? Peter and I thought the same thing when we got our swords. Peter misses Rhindon terribly, and I miss my own sword, but it's nice to at least have swords here. At least we didn't have to give up every bit of home when we came back." 

"You're always were the smart one, Ed," Lucy praised her brother. 

"Why do you think Pete made me the diplomat?" The siblings laughed again. "Alright, you girls go ahead and get planning. You're better at things like that than Peter and I are." 

"That's because all you men can think about is battle planning and sword fighting," Lucy teased. 

"Shut up," Edmund grumbled as he walked away. 

"Oh, very eloquent, my King," Lucy said, dropping into a curtsy as Susan laughed beside her. "It is no wonder that your missives were always so essential to our peace agreements with our neighboring kingdoms." 

"I think you may be taking your title a bit too much to heart, oh Valiant one." 

"Go on and make sure our brother is well, my King," Susan joined in. "My sister and I shall confer with one another over the plans regarding our upcoming banquet." 

"I shall take my leave then, my Queens." With a formal bow, Edmund left the kitchen and returned upstairs. Mr. Pevensie was left quite amused, and he was excited to see how this endeavor would play out.

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A/N: Sooooo? Whacha thiiiiiink? Like it? Love it? Needs work? Leave me a review please! I would love to know your thoughts. If I get any flames, I'll play Tumnus's pipe and make them dance.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, guys!

Sorry, this isn't a new chapter or anything. Didn't mean to get your hopes up. I'm just posting this to some of my more popular stories to let you guys know that I've got some story ideas up on my profile that I can't really do anything with for various reasons. If anybody's having some writer's block or wants a new story idea, feel free to check out the ones I've posted and PM me about them. I'd love to see them be used and brought to life. Thanks!

Kurai


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